


Reaction Waffles

by Thumbie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Coping Mechanisms, Dirty Talk, Dom Bucky Barnes, Face-Fucking, I was not aware that I was this kinky, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Muscle Kink, Panty Kink, Phone Sex, Size Kink, Sub Steve Rogers, This is a lot of tags for me, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thumbie/pseuds/Thumbie
Summary: I tried to write for a Stucky Big Bang in 2016. I failed, but these came out of it, so... yay! This is a collection of unconnected Tumblr posts that I made in response to a friend's pic/gif prompts.





	1. The One With Steve's Butt

-.-.-.-

Ultra NSFW original post [here.](http://kyarutryingtowrite.tumblr.com/post/144871988428/stevebuckypornlookalikes-steve-cant-even) This one has been edited to be in present tense.

-.-.-.-

Steve can’t even arch up. He can’t get his hands under himself, or his knees, or do anything but lie there and just take it as Bucky licks and sucks at his asshole like he’s fucking  _desperate_  for it.

“Bucky,  _god-_ “

Bucky grips his ass harder, tilting Steve up and back as he licks a hot stripe over his balls before pressing the edge of his teeth over Steve’s perineum. There’s definitely going to be some beard burn later on, which he may or may not come to regret, but right at this moment, Steve really can't give a damn. His entire world is centered between his legs, in a hot eager mouth and a sloppy wet tongue. He whines as Bucky draws back a little, only to choke on a breath when he feels a wad of spit land right on his pucker. A cool metal thumb rubs it on and around and  _\- oh god_  - gradually presses against the resisting muscle, fucking in and out until the entire thick digit is seated right up to the knuckle.

“What are you  _doing_ , you filthy-“

Bucky slaps his ass hard; the pain blooming over his left asscheek and Steve jolts forward in surprise. “You love it, Rogers, don’t lie.“

-.-.-.-

.

.

.

.End.


	2. The One With The Whipped Cream and the Cherries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is the epilogue to a story which I haven't even started to put together yet so you may come away with some questions.

-.-.-.-

Ultra NSFW original post [here.](http://kyarutryingtowrite.tumblr.com/post/145245254373/magicandmalice-whip-cream-and-cherries-are-not) My thanks to the amazing unicorn fam that helped me get all my braincells together so I could write this down.

-.-.-.-

Bucky doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, he really doesn’t.

He’s got his Biology finals in two days, and his Advanced Engineering project is due before the weekend, and God please, let it work on the first try because Professor Fitz might be cute as hell but he can take a man to pieces with that deceptively soft Scottish burr.

Bucky isn’t even thinking about all the essays he has to finish. He’s got no time for…whatever this is.

This being… well, his football jock boyfriend. Naked in their living room. Masquerading as an indecent banana split.

Bucky retains enough brain power to lock the front door, toe off his shoes and set down his books and bags before turning to look at a sheepishly smiling Steve again.

“Hi, Steve,“ He manages evenly. “Have a little kitchen accident?”

The blush on Steve’s face is adorable. “I wanted to, uh… you’ve been working so hard these past weeks, so I thought…maybe you’d like to come home to dessert?“

Bucky can’t keep his deadpan look on another second after that. Even when he’s wearing a pair of whipped cream breasts, Steve looks so earnest. On the field, he’s a scary-ass tank of a quarterback bearing down on the endzone, but with their friends and in private, Steve Rogers is nothing but a goddamn marshmallow. And, out of all the beautiful and talented people on campus, Steve chose the most socially-challenged, library-haunting dweeb to fall in love with. He’s made it his mission in life to be the most supportive and caring boyfriend in the world: he makes trips to Bucky’s favorite bakery and picks him up after late night classes, he buys tickets for musicals and tries not to burn the kitchen down while making toast just to make sure Bucky eats something, he sends cute animal gifs throughout the day and he listens when Bucky complains about Professors Fitz and Simmons being the tag-team from hell.

How can Bucky not return that devotion?

“Idiot. You think I’d like you better with all that crap on you?”

Steve barely has a second to look like a crestfallen puppy before Bucky’s pressing their lips together, licking at the seam of Steve’s frowning mouth for entrance. He tastes like all the good things in life, warmth and eagerness and a touch of the whipped cream that Bucky only really buys for him anyway. Ugh, and  _fake cherries_.

Bucky backs away with a grimace and tugs Steve upstairs towards the showers. There aren’t going to be any essays written tonight, no revision, no progress made on his Advanced Engineering project, and he’s completely fine with that, because he’s got a naked boyfriend that’s so desperate for a little loving that he’d hold a banana between his asscheeks for however long it took for Bucky to get home.

Steve eats the maraschinos because he has neither tastebuds or class, but Bucky can’t find it in himself to complain because the sight of those slender fingers disappearing into that wet red mouth is fucking glorious. The banana and whatever whipped cream they can scrape off goes straight into the garbage; Bucky has a bit of a food kink, it’s true, but right now he just wants to get Steve in the shower so he can clean him with his mouth.

The first swipe of his tongue over Steve’s chest coincides with the first spray of water against their skin. His skin is blush-hot, with a faint tang of sweat clinging to the soft sparse hair. Steve is ticklish around the nipples, and Bucky smiles smugly as low chuckles gradually become bitten-off groans. All too soon, his mouth is wrenched away from torturing a sensitive bud so Steve can suck on his tongue.

“ _Bucky_ ,“ He whines, when Bucky turns away from the kiss to dig his teeth into one muscled shoulder. “Lemme… I want…“

“’S your fault, hiding these tits under all that shit…“

He tastes so good, his desperation rumbling over Bucky’s lips as he maps the veins of Steve’s neck and across to the other collarbone. Water drums down on both their heads, plastering Bucky’s hair down so he probably looks like a drowned rat, but Steve…god, Steve looks like a pinup from one of those high-end magazines, all stark lines and impossibly long lashes, looking so ethereal and pure, yet also unbearably erotic. It boggles Bucky’s mind every day to realize just how fucking lucky he is.

“I’m sorry we haven’t had much time together lately.“ Bucky rubs his nose against Steve’s just to be close enough see the soft besotted look in his boyfriend’s eyes. “Missed you.“

“I missed you too. Love you.“

 _I love you too_ , Bucky thinks, and for a sharp aching moment, he wishes he could say it out loud. It’s a stupid fear brought on by some messed-up family drama, and God knows he’ll have to let Steve know some time, but it’s definitely got no place here now.

“How do you want me then?” Bucky asks instead, leaning back against the cold tiles. The position emphasizes the leanness of his body and just how broad and stocky Steve really is. Bucky’s just an inch or so shorter but his intense focus on academics is evident in his pale skin and slight build. Some of the football team had invited him on one of their training sessions once, and the sight of eight Neanderthals grunting and sweating in unison while yelling out insane reps had certainly been something. Bucky had never gone with them again; he knew his body and its limitations and, more importantly, he knew what it did to  _Steve_.

They’d only done this a few times before, so it’s still exhilarating as fuck when Steve hauls him up by the ass, pushing them both against the wall so he has the leverage to grind their cocks together. It’s a vulnerable position, not just for Bucky but for Steve as well. At this angle, with Bucky’s thighs tight around his waist and their faces so close they’re breathing the same air, Steve can’t do a damn thing but hold on to his ass and hope for enough friction to orgasm.

Bucky can’t help but run admiring hands over the rock-hard flex of his boyfriend’s arms. The strength in them…

“I remember the last time we did this. Spring break at Tony’s, yeah? Everyone was bummed about losing that last game, and somehow we decided we’d all eat in the formal dining room like adults. So I helped Wanda and Volstagg while you guys messed around, and then while we were eating, everyone was whining about Schmidt Prep and I was bored, so I ended up jerking you under the table.“

“ _Fuck_ , Bucky, of course I remember,  _jeez_ -“

“And then we came home and you were pissed that you’d had to drive home with a hard-on, and you were going on and on about it so I finally just sucked you off. Well, tried to. You got so hot for it, you picked me up just like this and you made me open myself for you and then you fucked me against the wall so hard that we broke a picture.“

“ _God_ …“

Bucky licks over Steve’s jaw, the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow rasping against the flat of his tongue. The feeling of Steve’s cock throbbing against his is divine and Bucky fists them both together roughly, suddenly hungry for the taste of their release. “It was fucking amazing.  _You’re_ fucking amazing, you and your  _goddamn_ muscles. You remember what I told you that night?“

“Yea-” Steve’s deep groan cuts off the rest of his response; Bucky grins into the side of his wet blond head as he thumbs over Steve’s weeping slit again.

“I told you wanted to fuck your arms, didn’t I? Said I wanted to trace all these fucking perfect muscles with my fingers, then my tongue, then my cock. I said I wanted to rub one off on your biceps, so I could smear my come into your skin then lick it off and hold it in my mouth while you fuck my face. I  _want_ that, Steve, I want to have you just like that- God, you’re so  _good_ to me and I-”

It doesn’t take long, especially with the picture he’s painting; It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve done anything except the occasional furtive handjob in the morning. Bucky caves first, and Steve follows soon after, gasping brokenly into the crook of his neck. Even through the post-orgasmic haze, Bucky is amazed that they both don’t end up crashing to the floor. Instead, Steve and his powers of otherworldly self-control slowly lower them both until Bucky is in a warm damp cocoon made up of Steve’s heaving chest and the wall. It’s a great place to be, in his opinion.

If the night could end there, cuddling and kissing under the rhythmic patter of water, Bucky would be a happy man. Instead, since this is real life and they can’t afford to have the shower running all night, they towel off, reheat yesterday’s dinner and eat it with an episode of Drop Dead Diva on in the background. Then there’s a little light studying (Bucky can’t not study, it’s embedded in his DNA or something), a bit of footsie that becomes a full-out tickle war, and then it’s time for bed.

“You’re such a fucking dork,“ Bucky chuckles as Steve cautiously bids Peter goodnight, fiddling with the thermostat hooked up to the spider cage like it’s about to explode into a million tiny crawly things all over the table.

Steve sticks his tongue out childishly, his own goofy grin making itself known in the crinkle of his eyes. “You love me anyway.“

And Bucky can’t help but kiss him again, for the thousandth time that night, because he does- he really  _really_ does.

-.-.-.-

.

.

.

.End.


	3. The One With The Purple Panties

-.-.-.-

Ultra NSFW original post [here.](http://kyarutryingtowrite.tumblr.com/post/144672205378/slaughterme-barnes-you-want-me-to-take-these) If this story fulfills a need inside your soul, I'd like you to direct your thanks and adoration towards [Magic](http://magicandmalice.tumblr.com/), who sent me all these in the first place.

-.-.-.-

 

Bucky knows he looks good. He hasn’t thought of his body in  _that way_  for the longest time but… well, Steve takes an artist’s appreciation to everything. He draws Bucky constantly: at home, during debriefings, while waiting for a coffee at some extortionist’s excuse of a cafe, even when they’re on the Quinjet, on the way to pound some monsters before going for pizza. He says it’s relaxing because he’s been drawing the same lines since they were just a couple of knuckleheads in the orphanage, and he can pretty much draw Bucky in his sleep.

Steve’s asked him to pose a couple of times though, naked even (and boy were those some fun times) but never like this. Bucky thought Steve’s face was going to go up in flames, the tips of his ears and the back of his neck cherry-red when Bucky finally lifted the scrap of purple satin free from the box.

Bucky didn’t know why he’d been so hesitant; there’s literally nothing that Bucky wouldn’t do to make Steve happy. Putting on women’s lingerie is the easiest thing in the world.

The blush had faded eventually, replaced by a look of intense concentration as Steve drew Bucky leaning casually against the mantelpiece, or as casually as one can lean while wearing nothing but satin underwear. Finally, the sketchpad and graphite are set down and Steve gives him satisfied smile.

“I think that’s good for now, I can finish the rest later. You okay? Tired?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Bucky flexes his shoulders to loosen them (It’s been two hours maybe? He’s waited longer for targets, but nobody likes being reminded of those times), and notices Steve still tracking him with his eyes.  _Little perv_ , he thinks fondly. He hooks his thumb into the panty’s flimsy waistband and stretches it out a little bit, raising his eyebrow in a challenge as he rolls his hips suggestively. “You want me to take these off, Stevie?”

“I don’t actually,” Steve says with a soft fond smile, as if Buck is frolicking in the sunshine with cute puppies instead of trying to seduce him into bed. “I think they look good on you.”

“You would,” Bucky says, wrinkling his nose. He doesn’t really see the appeal, they’re a touch too snug, but he can’t deny that they’re comfortable. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, metal over flesh. “You sap. What, you want me to wear these all night?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed. You look  _real_  good, Buck, good enough to eat.”

Steve reaches out his big hands - artist’s hands, kind and caring hands - and Bucky walks straight into his embrace. It feels like coming home every single time, when strong arms wind around his waist to pull him close and Steve sighs contentedly into the vulnerable skin of his stomach, pressing worshipful kisses against his abs and chest. Bucky smiles to himself and runs his metal hand over short blond hair. If only the bad guys could see them now.

“I love you, Buck.” His sap says, as he always does when he’s got an armful of naked Winter Soldier.

The way Steve ducks lower to press his cheek against Bucky’s satin-covered bulge is something new though. And, because he’s a terrible little shit, he doesn’t even give Bucky  _any chance_  to mentally adjust before taking it a step further and actually nuzzling his entire face there, from forehead to chin, with the heat of his breath and a rumble of pleasure inciting some very interesting reactions.

It’s certainly a novelty to have your boyfriend eagerly face-humping your erection out of the blue, and Bucky finds all his words stick in his throat like gravel. He somehow manages a thready “ _Oh my god_ “, impulsively grabbing at Steve’s head to pull him closer as he tries to wrap his mind around what’s going on. Steve tilts his chin up a bit, the cocky punk, his eyes crinkling in that way that drives Bucky crazy before he _opens his mouth wider_ , rubbing the broad wet flat of his tongue willy-nilly over cockhead, shaft and balls like Bucky’s smuggling popsicles and not sharing.

The noises Steve makes are fucking  _indecent_. Bucky is suddenly harder than he’s ever been in his life, feeling his cock strain hungrily against flimsy cloth. He makes the mistake of looking down and regrets it immediately - Steve’s eyes are closed, but the look on his face can’t be described as anything other than blissful. The front of the purple panties are soaked through with spit and pre-cum, and the way they rub against his heated flesh when Steve presses in even harder is nearly unbearable. Bucky is absolutely raring to go, hard as granite and probably poking Steve in the eye. Still, the blond looks like there’s nowhere he’d rather be than in between Bucky’s legs, so Bucky grits his teeth and breathes through his nose and tries to wait it out. If this is what Steve wants, then Bucky’ll let him have it, ‘coz Stevie asks for so little and gives everything he’s got in return.

Alright, so Bucky’s a fuckin’ sap too. No one’s gonna call him out on it though, who would dare?

So he lets Steve lick and nip and tug on satin, moving the wet cloth in maddening increments over Bucky’s aching cock. He tends towards copious pre-cum which is perfect for lubing Stevie up when he’s got nothing but time, but the longer Steve rubs his face all over his crotch area, the more it starts to chafe. It’s fuckin’ hot though, something Bucky never even considered, but then again Steve’s always been a bit more adventurous in the bedroom.

 _God_ , it feels good, especially when Steve’s long fingers slip between his thighs to nudge at his perineum. It is long before he realizes he’s humping back, that he is actually holding Steve’s face against his cock and humping his beautiful cheekbones. Steve squeezes his thigh when Bucky stops mid-stroke and makes a keening sound that goes right down his spine and into the soles of his feet.

He’s gotta be done soon though, right?

This is torture, pure torture, rubbing himself off on an American icon who, alright, let’s be fair, he’s gagging for it, making desperate little sounds like he wants to swallow Bucky whole and never let go. It’s not even the chafing that’s the problem, it’s that Bucky wants to lay this amazing man down and worship him the same way he’s so obviously doing to Bucky, to kiss every single inch of him, to bite his ears and lick down his back, to spear his pert little ass with a pointed tongue and three fingers shoved in hard and fast and rough. And oh  _God_ , that visual was it, the sense memory of tongue-fucking his boyfriend into a sobbing, pleading mess, it’s got Buck so very close to bursting that he’s got to warn Steve  _right now_.

“Stevie… Babe, ‘m sorry but I…I gotta-“

“I want it.”

Bucky’s lungs freeze. There’s a  _look_  in Steve’s wide eyes, his pupils blown as black as Bucky’s ever seen them, and he runs the very tip of his nose gently against wet purple satin before speaking again.

“I want you to finish in them. Please.”

Steve bites the inside of his lip and looks down again, like his gaze is magnetized and Bucky’s dick is true north. Bucky knows he’s been practicing his dirty talk; nothing gets him hotter than hearing that throaty voice cursing out loud, those red lips making obscene shapes around words Steve would never normally allow in polite company. But he’s floored when Steve opens that sweet mouth and says, “I want you to cum in your panties, Buck, so I can suck you clean through them. I want to rub my face and neck all over you when you’re done so I feel you on my skin next time we go out. You look like a fuckin’ bombshell right now, Buck, so fuckin’ hard and  _gorgeous_ just for me, and every time I close my eyes I want to see your body seizing up wearing just these goddamn panties and my spit all over your cock and balls.”

Well.

How the hell is he supposed to say no to  _that_?

-.-.-.-

.

.

.

.End.


	4. The One Where You Kinda Hafta See The GIF to Really Get It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's my first foray into second-POV writing, I hope it makes sense!

-.-.-.-

Ultra NSFW original post [here.](http://kyarutryingtowrite.tumblr.com/post/144668593038/magicandmalice-i-like-to-think-bucky-has-been)

-.-.-.-

I’m not gonna say I’m not hypnotized by the beautiful roll of that back and the way his hands are so desperately clutching together. Because I am. I really, really am.

Why so desperate, Steve? Why aren’t you on your back, touching yourself? I know you want to tease, but wouldn’t it be easier to do it with your fingers instead of the sheets?

Or maybe you were told to do this. Is Bucky in your ear right now, halfway around the world on some mission on other, and you’re stuck here at home finishing the paperwork? ‘Coz that’s what team captains do, isn’t it, and Hill had  _that_   _look_  on her face and you had no other choice but to let the rest of the team go without you - them to save the world and you to suffer the bureaucracy. Honestly, you’re not cut out for that kind of life; politics infuriate you and smarmy government men remind you of Zola and his dirty smile. After each day that passes, you stew a little longer, a little hotter until nearly a month has gone by and you just can’t stand it anymore, they’re just so _narrow-minded_  and  _petulant_  and  _reprehensible_.

Once the conference room has been cleared and the busted table has been removed (there’s probably no fixing it, you definitely owe Tony a new conference table), Hill looks you over once before sending you home for the rest of the day. But what’s the point really? There’s no one to run with, no one to spar with, no one to cuddle and watch bad movies with. You’re all alone, and for one horrible moment, you’re feeling as overwhelmed as you did before you crashed the plane into the Arctic.

And just in time, your StarkPhone rings and Bucky’s face flashes on the screen.

“Hey babe. JARVIS told me you were having some irregular spikes or some science-y shit like that. You okay?”

You breathe harshly through your nose, despondency and frustration warring in your chest, and you close your eyes and listen to the sound of Bucky on the other line. Wherever he is, it’s very windy, though the tinny little howl is muted and your enhanced hearing can pick up the crackle of a fireplace and the distant murmur of conversation.

“Steve,” He says, concern in his voice. “Answer me, doll.”

You can’t though, because your heart is in your throat and your skin is too tight and you want to run to where he is and kick some ass, anybody’s ass, because you feel just so damn  _useless_  here away from your team. And you want to tell Bucky this, you want to tell him everything: about how you’ve been shuffled around from one department to the next like a game of Hide the Queen, of the permanent ink stain you now have on your fingers from signing piles of documents that looked completely superfluous but were made out to be so important, of being objectified so thoroughly you feel like there’s a price tag and an expiration date on your ass.

It turns out you don’t have to say anything at all. Bucky  _knows_  you, from head to toe, inside out, and he knows what to do to get your out of your head and back into the world again.

“I’m craving some ice cream,” He says conversationally. “That stuff we had last time was good, you know the one with the dark chocolate pieces and the cherry swirl? You think you could get me some?”

You nod even though he can’t see, but he  _knows_ , and the quiet “Good boy” wraps around your frazzled nerves like a blanket.

-

And now you’re naked and panting and writhing, alone in an empty house with a fridge full of ice cream and Bucky fucking Barnes in your ear telling you how beautiful you are, how good you are, how this is exactly what he wants. Your hands are clutched tightly above your head because you’re not allowed to touch yourself and you rut mindlessly against firm pillows and smooth cotton sheets, your entire body flushed with arousal because you’ve been like this for close to an hour and Bucky hasn’t said anything about coming yet so you  _can’t_.

You’re whining, you realize, and you cut it off immediately, hating the weakness of it. Bucky doesn’t mention it, though you know he wants to hear the sounds you make, and he keeps talking about what he’s going to do to you when he gets home. And it’s not even anything overly sexual, isn’t anything like you  _want_  to hear, like how he’s going to pin you down across the neck while he’s fucking you, or how tightly he’ll hold your wrists behind your back while you ride him. He doesn’t say how he’ll scrape your back up against the bedroom wall with your thighs around his waist while he spreads you open with his big hands, or how long he’ll eat you out while you’re hanging over the back of the couch and he’s watching backlogged episodes of Supernatural.

No, it’s all the little everyday things you do together: kissing your shoulder first thing in the morning, pouring you orange juice instead of coffee because the sweet acidity makes sucking your tongue all the better, holding your hand in the privacy of the Avengers common room, holding your hand under the conference table when Fury or Hill give debriefings, holding your hand in general, running his lips over your knuckles while he queues up Galavant because he’s a dork and he thinks it’s hilarious, nuzzling the back of your neck when you’ve stayed up too long reading reports. Even buying fucking  _groceries_ , for fuck’s sake, there’s nothing even  _remotely_ romantic about stocking up on TP and you tell him so even as you try to control your breathing.

“It is though,” He says, and you can feel him smiling like he’s right next to you, pressing his mouth against your skin. “It is, because I’m doing it with you, Stevie.”

And you’re about to die from shame, really you are, because the fucking Winter Soldier is nothing but a sugary sap of a man that should be regulated to paperback bodice-rippers. He chuckles, sensing your frustration even though you haven’t said a word.

“Impatient little shit.” His fond tone changes between one breath and the next, dropping low on the register until it’s rumbling through your body like a wave. Your cock twitches on reflex and you grind down on it until it chafes. “I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Everything we do together makes me love you more and every day we’re together is a dream come true- because you and me, baby? We could have never been like this back then. I coulda never held your hand while we walked down the street, coulda never kissed you in the rain, coulda never sat next to you at the old black and whites and tried to make time while other people were watchin’. We  _live_ together, baby, in our own place and nobody’s flapping their gums about it, nobody’s trying to take you away. God, Steve, you fuckin’ wreck me every morning when I turn over and I see you lying next to me. Even when we’re out on the field, even when there’s bullets flying at us and fuckin’ aliens and whatever else, you’re where I can watch you. Where I can fight  _with_  you. Stevie, you gotta believe me when I say this is everything I ever wanted and I’m so happy that I’m with you, so unbelievably amazingly happy.”

You choke down a sob that threatens to overwhelm you, at once annoyed that it’s so easy to pull the waterworks out of you while also feeling a tide of relief wash over your mind. Bucky is right, so so right. No matter what stupid nonsense is heaped on the team, the fact remains that you were able to find a home with your oldest friend seventy years in the future. Yes, the nightmares are still there for the both of you but you’ve got friends now, friends that stick up for you and fight by your side and push you to be a better person than you were yesterday. And above all, there is Bucky. Bucky who is stronger now than ever before, and not because of the mechanical arm, and despite what HYDRA put him through.

Bucky is here, right now, his sweet hitching moans echoing in your ear, whispering your name over and over, soft endearments that would normally make you blush now compelling you to rut your hips harder and faster. You feel the definitive tingle between your legs and you spread your thighs wide, baring yourself to the cold air and empty room. A visceral need grips you when you realize how empty you feel, but there is no cockhead pressing against you, no thick fingers working you open, not even a dildo to use as a substitute. At this moment, you’d happily sit on a goddamn screwdriver handle just to fill the void inside.

“ _Bucky_ ,” You gasp at the end of a long downward stroke that presses against all the right spots.

“You sound so good, sweetheart. I love hearing you say my name when you’re all wound up like this. I miss the taste of you, we’ve been gone far too fuckin’ long. I want to kiss you all over, get my hands on all those gorgeous tight muscles. I want to hold your cock in my mouth when we get home, just drop to the floor in front of you with my mouth open so I can take you in as quick as I can. I want to have a bath with you and wash your hair. I want to fuck you in the shower, mark you up with cum just to clean you off again. I want to smell myself on your neck, in the crook of your elbow, between your legs. I want all of it, Steve, all of it. And you’ll let me do anything I want, won’t ya, you beautiful thing?”

You let out a whine and you don’t even care how pathetic you sound at this point, you just want to come and come  _hard_. Your hands are  _aching_  with the effort not to reach down and provide the slightest bit of pressure to get yourself off but if you do that, Bucky’ll know, so you keep them clasped above your head even though you’re shaking with desperation.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” There’s a rasp to his voice now, and when you squeeze your eyes shut and concentrate past the blood rushing in your ears, you can hear him, working his cock halfway around the world to the sound of you panting for him. You can imagine what he looks like, gripping the bedsheets with one hand while using the other – the metal one – to work his thick length. You know how quick he’s going by the steady huff of his breath and you can see in your mind’s eye how good his cockhead looks drooling between his thighs, just like it always does when he’s wound up this tight. “Are you thinkin’ about me, Steve? God, I’m thinkin’ about you, can’t  _stop_  thinkin’ about you, about how good you must look right now, how hard you’re fuckin’ our mattress. Fuck, the  _neighbors_  are probably hearing how hard you’re goin’. I’m-” And here his breath hitches, and fuck, you know what that means, and you groan his name a little louder (a little more plaintively, like you do when you’re gagging for his cock) just to hear him swear a blue streak that would’ve had the nuns beating down their doors with soap. “Oh my everlovin’ _Christ,_ you play dirty, Steve Rogers, you evil conniving little cocksucker,  _oh fuck_ -“

And  _the sound of him_ , it’s the best thing ever, hearing him call out your name like a benediction, like he doesn’t care if the whole world is listening to him because  _you made him orgasm_ , it’s enough, God is it ever enough, to have you finally coming into the sheets bunched underneath you.

-.-.-.-

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.End.


	5. The One With Self-Love and Steve-Love

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Ultra NSFW original post [here.](http://kyarutryingtowrite.tumblr.com/post/144595651218/keepbuckybaby-mission-if-i-was-in-your)

-.-.-.-

I have a feeling this is a common occurrence in the Barnes-Rogers household. Bucky keeps it together on the field, while they’re on missions, when they have their bi-weekly movie sessions with the team. He’s a real gentleman, is Bucky Barnes, was in the 1940s and still is in the 2010s, even more so now because he wants to paint a clear picture in people’s minds of where the Winter Soldier ends and he begins. The Winter Soldier doesn’t open doors for dames. The Winter Soldier doesn’t offer to carry bags. The Winter Soldier doesn’t find lost little puppies or rescue kittens from trees. The Winter Soldier doesn’t volunteer at the VA, or sit in on meetings even if he doesn’t talk much, or bring in donuts from across the city that are easier on the stomach but no less delicious than the mass-produced ones. The Winter Soldier doesn’t go to the beach and calmly spread sunblock on Tasha’s back, on Pepper’s back, on Darcy’s back, and Tony and Scott’s too when they ask.

The Winter Soldier would never do these things; Bucky Barnes does.

But when they’re home, when the curtains are drawn and the radio is playing some song or the other (and when the sink is clean and the plates are put aside, because Steve is forever fussing about that sort of thing), Bucky paints another picture just for Steve - of a man who can’t get nearly enough of his lover, no matter that they’ve been at it like wild monkeys ever since Wakanda and his new arm. Sometimes, Bucky can’t even wait to get out of his own clothes, he just thanks God for elastic waistbands and goes right for his dick in front of Steve, who rolls his eyes and makes embarrassed noises when he sees what’s happening. Sometimes, he gets a “ _Bu_ -uck” because they’re supposed to be out the door and going somewhere unimportant, but there’s really nothing Steve can do about it and no one he can blame but himself. When they’re at home, Steve’s ass is fair play.

Steve is a fuckin’ drug. He  _is_. Oh on the inside, Buck knows Stevie still feels like a scrawny bit of a man, barely a hundred pounds soaking wet, coughing and wheezing and squinting and generally five minutes away from pneumonia every time the wind blows wrong. Even back then, Bucky was high on him, him and his clever hands and his dopey grin and his neat hair. The stuff they’re doing now would get them banged up and thrown into the river back in the day, but after all that’s happened, Bucky doesn’t give a flying fuck what anybody says no more. The future owes him his time with Stevie, and he plans to take it every day, as much as Steve can handle and a bit more for good measure.

 _God_ , it’s good to be with Steve. To strip him bare and lick over every inch of him. To suck bruises on his neck and bite at the most perfect tits to ever exist. To hear Steve breathe “Buck, god… _yes_ …“ as his muscles strain and bunch underneath Bucky’s hands, as he works two and then three fingers (sometimes four, but not often, because Steve has a hair-trigger when he realizes what’s happening) into that tight hot clench, as he presses his tongue all over the sensitive patch of skin behind Steve’s balls until he’s dripping wet and whining up a storm. Being able to fuck Steve is just a bonus, because even without it, Bucky feels so blessed to even be able to touch him and kiss him and love him like this.

Because the Winter Soldier would  _never_ be capable of this.

 _Bucky Barnes_  is, and he’s never going to let himself forget it again.

-.-.-.-

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.End.


	6. The One With The Worship (And Also More Panties)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna say that this is my fave NSFW gif and fic pair so far. And it's not even all that porny. I may or may not be broken because it's 1.30am right now and I've got to wake up at 5.20am-ish later...

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Ultra NSFW original post [here.](http://kyarutryingtowrite.tumblr.com/post/144592672408/kyarutryingtowrite-magicandmalice)

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> GODDAMMIT
> 
> And he’s just so worshipful about it too. Like, “FINALLY I can get my mouth on you, do you know this is what I was dreaming about in cryo, just you and your legs and your gorgeous shoulders and your fucking tits, Steve  _my god_ , your stomach is so flat, have you been eating, isn’t Sam taking care of you, isn’t  T’challa taking care of you, god I’ll never leave you alone again, you’re fucking wasting away and these assholes don’t even know how to put you in your place so you eat right, you can tell the scientists to throw the cryo chamber into the jaws of that big fuckin’ panther they got outside, ain’t no way I’m ever going back in now t - are you  _laughing_  at me, Steve? You think I’m funny, do you, you evil little shit? We’ll see who’s laughing in a minute…“

-.-.-.-

AND ALSO!

…is anyone clocking the just-a-touch-frilly panties that Steve has on? I mean, Bucky’s worshipful mouth is hypnotizing like whoa, but Steve’s low-key panties?

Those are the kind of panties no one will notice under your stealth uniform while you’re jumping off planes without a parachute. These panties don’t wedge up in your ass while you’re kicking somebody else’s. You could be riding a motorcycle, slinging your shield, hauling down helicopters and generally fighting for the autonomy of superheroes everywhere, and no one would know about your lacy black panties. Do you know how hard it is to find a pair like that?

Those are handwash-only panties. Steve probably does it in the bathroom sink, old school, and tumble-dries them with lots of towels. They’re probably in his bottom drawer, under his color-coded socks. The panties also look thin; he can wear regular boxers over them no problem. No one looking at his just-a-regular-joe wardrobe would think that he had to go through the trouble of learning how to shop online so he can get Agent Provocateur delivered to his apartment instead of having to go out and pretend he’s shopping for his girl.

Let’s talk color. Steve wears a lot of blue, stands to reason that most of his panties are shades of blue. There’s also a lavender one that he bought on a whim, and an olive-green one with a sheer panel on the front. Mostly, he buys the ones that are a little on the plainer side- no ribbons, no frilly lace, nothing that will snag or tear easily. He’s a superhero after all, and a very active one at that. The day after he gets out of the hospital though, a week after Bucky-who-isn’t-his-Bucky (yet) hauled his unconscious body onto the shores of the Potomac, Steve’s feeling low. So, to feel better, he signs into his Agent Provocateur account and he scrolls down down down, past the ones he’s already seen and the ones already tucked in his drawer. He scrolls and clicks and scrolls some more, not really seeing until [ _something_  ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.agentprovocateur.com%2Fgb_en%2Fannoushka-ouvert-black&t=NzE5Njk3MjAxMmM0OTM1YTY5YTllZjkwNzdlZGY2ZDVkZjU2NmFlYSxLaFphaUh1Tw%3D%3D&b=t%3ApwCGvtw20pNMGe1GyZdEIQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fkyarutryingtowrite.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F144592672408%2Fkyarutryingtowrite-magicandmalice&m=1)caches his eye.

Oh, it’s so impractical, with its tissue-thin lace panels and its tiny little buttons that go down the front and up the back. There’s no way he can fight wearing this pair, it’d tear right open if he even did so much as a squat.

The package arrives in three days, just in time for him to go to the cemetery to meet up with Nat. Steve takes the goddamn folder and doesn’t tremble, he goes back home without shaking, he has lunch, waters his plants. Then he closes his bedroom door and strips down to his new impractical panties, bundles up in the comforter and reads the folder. He feels a bit numb by the end of it, and a lot horrified under the numb and his heart feels like it’s going to crack in two, but under the comforter is a safe place, and the little pearly buttons on his panties hold him close and keep him together.

Sam and he spend two years chasing Bucky’s shadow, and Steve keeps his impractical panties with him. He doesn’t wear them, wears the other regular pairs and washes them where Sam can’t see, but his button-down panties he keeps neatly folded and wrapped in a sturdy handkerchief, tucked right next to his heart where there’s absolutely no way they’ll be shaken loose or torn away. He only wears them when he’s at home, just for an hour at the most, because he doesn’t know when they’ll be called in for an assignment, and these panties are 100% not for fighting in but… even just the shortest amount of time in them is calming, the buttons straining the slightest bit when he flexes his muscles. He gets hard in them sometimes, he’s only human (even though it seems the rest of the world doesn’t really think so), but he doesn’t really have the drive to do anything about it, he just adjusts himself so the line of buttons press against the underside of his cock, and he breathes through it, measuring the beat of his blood between his legs until he softens again.

Bucky’s the one who clued him into panties; the jerk actually bought him his first pair as a joke, and a matching bra too. “This is what dames wear under their clothes, Steve, get a little practice in before you get to the real deal.“ Bucky always believed that one day, a girl was gonna look at Steve and see a white knight instead of a stick-thin asthmatic with no future, and that if nothing else, would always be why he chose Bucky: because Bucky didn’t care about the weakness or the scoliosis or the deafness or the serum or the sudden responsibility that came with being Captain America. All Bucky saw was Steve, and all Steve saw was Bucky.

And maybe, when he finally caught up to his best friend, Steve wouldn’t need to hide his panties away anymore. Maybe Bucky would like seeing them on him, or maybe he wouldn’t, but that was okay because all that really mattered would be that Bucky would  _see_  all of Steve and they’d be together again.

 

Spoiler alert: Bucky fucking  _loves_  Steve in his panties, look at him  _get it_.

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.End.


	7. The One That Isn't Really a Story Yet

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Ultra NSFW original post [here.](http://kyarutryingtowrite.tumblr.com/post/144587596863/doesrogersknow-can-we-talk-about-this-please)

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There’s a story behind this. They’re not just naked for no good reason ( ~~lies~~ ).

Bucky: …and this guy, he just freakin’  _strolls_ into the house, right, like “It’s no big deal, you’re naked, I’m naked, we’re all naked here”. I’m like, “ _No_ , this is a big deal, we have to talk about this, also  _what the fuck are you doing in my house who are you_.” And then this absolute stranger just gives me this big old smile, like we’ve been besties forever and I’ve seen his massive chest and aggressive nipples a thousand times before, and he moves the blanket off the couch - the one my ma made, God rest her soul - and he parks it there and now I have a naked guy’s assprint on my brand new couch, right next to my ma’s blanket.  _And then_ , as if this wasn’t enough of an assault on my senses, he sees my guitar, picks it up, starts strumming, and asks me if I have any requests.

Steve: Long story short, we’ve been together five years and he  _still_  makes a big deal about me sitting naked on the couch.

Bucky: Because you’re fucking  _naked_  on our  _couch_  and the  _windows_  are open! The neighbors eye-fuck you for breakfast! They’ve been having their fill of stupid blond beefcake morning, noon and night since you moved in!

Steve: *snerks and makes grabby hands at Bucky* You should’a just said you were jealous, muffin. Give us a kiss.

Bucky: You can kiss my ass, jerkface. And I  _still_  don’t know why you were naked that day, drives me nuts.

Steve: *still smiling* Maybe I just wanted to make an impression so it wouldn’t be awkward asking you out later on. Which I did. I even apologized. At length. Both before  _and_  after we had mind-blowing sex.

Natasha: Errr, I just came to ask if your water heater was broken too, but thanks for over-sharing? I just moved in; I promise I haven’t eye-fucked your husband in any way.

Bucky: S’only a matter of time. *sighs* Welcome to the neighborhood.

-.-.-.-

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.End.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it! I have a bit of a backlog (insert unhinged psychopathic liarliar laughter here) but if anyone wants to send me pics to cry over, please do so at [kyarutryingtowrite](http://kyarutryingtowrite.tumblr.com), thenkyuu!


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